


5:1:1

by OntheMeander



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Times, Anal Sex, Attempted Seduction, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Hair Kink, M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Roman baths, Seduction, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-06-25 22:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19754626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OntheMeander/pseuds/OntheMeander
Summary: 5 times that Crowley seduces Aziraphale... without trying.1 time that Crowley actually tries to seduce Aziraphale... and fails.1 time that Azirpahale actually does something about it.





	1. 110 AD

Mist raised off the waters as Aziraphale padded, barefoot, into the baths. He was completely bare from head to toe, the heat of water and bodies making even his thin gauze fabric to stuffy for his human body. The sound of bubbles rolling out along the lead-lined pools bounced off the enclosed walls. Steam wafted up along the finely decorated walls, adorned with graphic images of shared bliss and statues of encouraging gods. The bright light, streaming in from the oculus, danced along with the glistening bodies of roman patrons.

Naked bodies dotted the space all of them intoxicated by the warmth and drink. Men and women laid out in leisurely conversation, the serious getting down to brass tax while the bold teased their companions. Women traded tips and tricks to control their husbands and homes while getting their hair curled and crimped into elaborate hair-dos. Men wrestled, working up a light sweat while exorcising, before scrapping the sweats and oils away. All excited to then get the tension in their muscles massaged away by smooth skilled hands.

The process was totally enjoyable, as was to be expected, but by far the best moment was that rush of sinking into the hot waters of the caldarium. The heat did wonders to Aziraphale senses, the waters wrapping around him like a dear friend. It helps dull a corporal form that was still a little too sensitive to every stimulus that surrounded it. Helped him to weed out all the useless information from the host and brethren to truly enjoy the sensations humans had to offer. The food was as free-flowing as the wine and bath waters. People milled around him, stopping to chat amicably with the angel. Many knew him as a regular customer if not rather an odd man. Always welcome but never invited to the more illicit acts that could take place in empty locker rooms and tucked away alcoves.

He seemed to just glow with purity, even while paying patronage to a place that offered a bit more than the innocent wash up. His white-blonde hair was striking against the brightly colored frescos on the walls. His plump body becoming rosy in the warm waters. Looking like the finest grained bread dough just begging to be kneaded. He was never in a rush while at the baths, coming before most other arrived and leaving long after they had to abandon the tranquility for their work and families. Many whispered that he must be a god to truly have such decadent free time. None the less he does not smite those who do come near them, simple ingulphing them in exuberantly conversations on the latest philosophical studies.

Currently, he is holding a light debate with the son of a local general, a bright boy with a charismatic disposition and the adorable nickname of "little boots"

There was a suspicious lull in conversations as attentions were swept up to a new guest walking into the baths. Turning around himself, Aziraphale instantly recognized the figure who walked in as the demon Crowley. Like some epic Babylonian demi-god, standing in all his glory, preposterously wide-legged, framed by the caldarium’s arched doorway.

Slowly he continued entering the caldarium, his hips had this unnaturally smooth sway, harkening back to his earliest days from the garden of Eden. Many eyes turn, with no attempts to veil the heated lustful looks as they watched the man walkthrough. All bold steps and fluid long-limbed confidence. His fiery red hair, an exotic look that set many loins aflame, was loosely piled atop his head in a messy bun. A few unruly curls, refusing to be contained, fell to frame the high cheekbones and strong jaw of Crowley’s face.

No one seemed to attempt to comment on his petite black glasses that were surely fogging up past the point of use. It should look ridiculous, but he wore them with such comfort and confidence that you couldn’t find anything on him worthy of ridicule. He was eye-catching, attention-grabbing, and content to bask in the warmth of the dozens of eyes watching him.

Humming softly to himself, he slunk right into the warm waters, stretching himself out on display. Directly across of Aziraphale. All he gave him was a small wave in acknowledgment of his presence, before lulling his head back. The column of his neck was stretched out, a lovely line of suntanned flesh. Jewel-like beads of sweat rolled down his long neck, catching slightly in the deep dip of his collar bone, before caring on its path down his chest into the waters.

Aziraphale felt his throat become parched, no amount of wine was helping the matter. 

Everyone seemed slightly hesitant to approach the man, though many seemed like that would make them happier than anything else. Those that took steps in his direction would almost miraculously turn and head in other directions, to more willing partners.

Soon the time passed and people went back to their conversations, only sparing a few glances here or there. Aziraphale went back to his wine and fruits, pretending to pay much less attention to the demon than he really was.

It felt like the first time ever that he got a real good look at the demon. To how those lean powerful muscles shifted or the nearly insisted habit of fidgeting he had. How even as a demon of hell, he didn’t so much radiate dangerous intention but a subtle mischievousness. The kind of mischievousness that made you want to be a repeat offender over and over and over, which would ultimately be Crowley’s greatest power.

He radiated some strong magnetic attraction that called out to human, or so Aziraphale assumed. It could be the only explanation for his own response to the serpent. How his eyes and full attention always seemed to key into Crowley. How all his sense could trace the fallen angel as he walked circles around him like a predator. It made Aziraphale feel watched, almost protected, like the center of Crowley’s world.

It was in the way that his eyes use to twinkle at him, long before the glasses were invented and he incorporated them into his everyday fashion. Those golden slit snake eyes that made his celestial essence twinkle in exciting interest like a thousand supernova stars.

Finished with his soak, Crowley lifted himself out of the bath, contented to simply lay exposed at the edges of the pool. He spread out like a decadent Hellenistic sculpture, all curves, twists, and teasing peaks of pleasurable places. He released a great contented sigh, it surely had to be sinful to sound so pleasured. Submerging on arm into the waters, creating soft ripples as he rolled his hand in small circles. His black glasses prevent Aziraphale from knowing if Crowley was staring at him or not, that infernal smirk on his plush lips.

The tightness in Aziraphale’s throat traveled with rapid pace to his groin. Aziraphale shifted, trying to become comfortable with the sudden attention to his lower half. He hadn’t ever had to pay attention to that part of him before. He knew it was important to humans, Adam and Eve made the quite clear with their almost twice daily affairs.

He felt tense and on edge. Why did humans like this state?

Others were not so shy in their appreciation, many letting their hands wandering over their own exposed skin as their eyes wandered over his.

The heat, of either the waters or the atmosphere, suddenly took effect on Aziraphale poor head. His head became a light feeling, almost airy and floating. For a moment he was scared that he had lost hold of his corporeal form and was reverted back into the hydrogen cosmos of a million eyes and dozen wings. His reflection in the milky water was barely distorted in the rippling hot waters.

“You okay Aziraphale?” Crowley suddenly addressed him, picking his head up from his folded arms. So, he had been watching. That made the knots in his stomach solidify all over again. “Too much to drink? You look very red.” With Serpentine ease, he pushed up off his chest, swung his legs back into the pool and got in. His long body kept everything above his stomach out of the water, as his relentless swaying hips help glide him towards the angel.

Things, horribly devilish things, were on display. It was all the same bits of the biology, everything was created in the right place, but the way that they swaggered and swayed made them seem like a brand-new creation by god. A creation that demanded love and adoration “I didn’t know you enjoyed the baths.” Crowley asked, peering down at him through his sunglasses

“Yes… well…. Uh, it is good for the body.” He choked out, side-eyeing the demon as he settled down on the seated ledge next to him. Crowley never sat so much as sprawled like a Greek god without a care in the world. Which would not be far off. He started to wonder if Crowley had been lurking in artist workshops.

“Absolutely Heavenly.” He sighed with all the sins of hell in his voice.

“You here to cause trouble?” He asked because that is the only reason why he would be here. All the attention on him and all the confidence of a man… demon… with a plan.

“Not at all,” Crowley responded, one eyebrow quirked high in curiosity, still pinning Aziraphale with his stare. “It’s just been a long month. Figured an afternoon at the baths would be nice.” He concluded, creating ripples with his hands as he fidgeted. “I’m considering it off the clock if you will.”

“You’re…. You’re not tempting these people.” Aziraphale sounded dubious, scanning the room for all the people who still sent fleeting looks toward Crowley.

“No. What are you talking about Aziraphale?” He sounded genuinely confused, not ever taking his eyes away from his companion. When the angle didn’t answer, Crowley just shrugged and leaned back further. Laying his head back he had a soft smile on his lips and seemed to actually fall asleep. The soft sounds of light snoring coming from him.

His skin, normal stretched over lean muscle and bone, was becoming soft, red and glisten with oils and water. He didn’t look seductive, he looked comfortable. Totally at home within the skins of his corporeal form in a way that all other occult, or celestial, being couldn’t even dream to achieve.

Unable to handle it anymore, he quickly raised, ignoring the water puddling around his feet and made a hasty retreat for the door.


	2. 1518 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah in 1518 people in France danced for weeks. No clue why. people died. Seems like something our resident demon would have cooked up.

It was a balmy July morning that covered the countryside like a tailored glove. It wrapped every one of God’s creations tight into a blazing sensation. In an earlier time, this would have been the best excuse to strip down and laze by the riverside. To take the day and laze with friends, eating fruits and drinking wine. In this new age though, it was all the more reason to wear more layers and pray harder to pope and church. People worked harder in days like these, in the hopes of pleasing god with their piety and good works. A please god brought better weather, or so it is said.

Aziraphale rather liked all the fashion, their use of finely made fabrics and attention to detail, but they were a bit too confining for the season. The rushed colors that slight high on the neck and the tight bodice jackets that accentuated the figure were wonderful for the cool days in court but not for the summer days at farms. Warmth like this made him long to pull out his old togas, instead of sliding to the jumbled layers of hose, doublets, and codpieces.

Now it was only statues that were gifted the freedom of shucking their light fabrics in the heat. The flowing drapery, barely covering supple bodies, looking lighter than air even though it was heavy marble. Every town seemed to have one or two young delicate angels to tease the masses with their freedom from the earth and clothing. Aziraphale couldn't help but be proud to say that even a few of those bodies were modeled after his own corporeal form. Gabriel may look down on his body but his soft edges were rather pleasing to humans. They apricated the roundness of his face and slightly pudgy belly, a sign of wealth and a life of leisure.

Leisure that was so rarely attained by the majority of the world’s populous. Besides the courts of kings, basking in music and wine, the average man was always puttering away at work. This morning though was not like others, though to be fair none of them had been the same for the last 4,482 years.

On this morning though, the streets of Strasbourg were swollen with the entirety of the town. Homes were empty, Beds were unused, animals untended and ovens had long gone cold. Though none of these facts seemed to bother the denizens of the town as a new day rose on their fervent festivities.

People were dancing, everywhere, down every alley, street and city squares. It was chaotic and vibrant and full of life. A natural organism of movement that grew larger with each day. Music filled the streets. Citizens seeing the fun rushed home to collect their own instruments, adding to the celebration. Their cheery harmonies blending with ease to the sounds laughing dancers bouncing of wattle and daub buildings.

Women gracefully flowed through their dance moves, spinning around strong stomping men and excitably wiggling children. Couples danced in that barely touching way that made humanity seem so far more wholesome. The more adventurous had scandalously even kicked off their shoes to splash in the city center fountain. The truly scandalous had already runoff from the dancing, coupled off with partners, and seeking excitement in quieter darker spaces.

Aziraphale skirted around the edges of the crowd, miracleing a few of the more vulnerable members back into tip-top health. There was no reason to stop the fun, but there were really several people that probably shouldn’t have gone this long without food or water. There was so much love around him though, people in love with the music, the dancing, the people and with life. They were lost to the excitement of music and brushing bodies. All the love around him made Aziraphale glow with joy. There was such a love of life all around him, it was intoxicating, a heady cocktail he could bask in for the rest of the decade.

In the thick of it all, in the wave of woolen skirts and flouncy shirt sleeves, was an elegant figure in all black. Aziraphale would be concerned about the man getting heatstroke in such clothes if it wasn’t for the fact that it was the demon Crowley. When one grows out of a boiling pit of sulfur, there isn’t much concern for overheating in the southern French sun.

Crowley, with his long lean legs, were kicking and shuffling like an ostentatiously jewel-colored bird. Fine muscled thighs and calves wrapped up in black silk tights, ornate glass beaded brocade long the sides, glittered in the light. His black shirts flowed in the breeze and scarlet red cape swirled around him as he stopped circles into the dirt. His hair was glossy with sweat, pulled back tightly into a low ponytail, looking like blazing lava dripping down his shoulders. He was a beacon of interest that attracted eyes from all of the crowd.

Aziraphale got teasing glimpses of him as the crowds of people ebbed and flow in front of his vantage point. the small shaded corner of the church doorway which he had stopped in, giving relief to the heat, perfuming the air with incense. At once content to watch but intrigued in the many flexible ways that humans could move their bodies. He marveled at how their spines twisted, chests puffed out and legs strutted. The most flexible being that snake in the grass demon with all the fluid movement of a serpent with a thousand vertebra. He moved in a way that pushed the envelope, surely designed to make any good clergy faint. He was performing all the tiple moves but there was a mastery to them that made Aziraphale certain that a new age in human contact was on the way.

He twirled around giggling girls, enchanting them with his cunning smile and teasing hips. It was fascinating to watch how he made a five-foot gap between him and his partner feel like an intimate crush of bodies. How the barely brushing hands that surely felt as passionate as heated kisses along the back of your neck. How his hips had all the grace of a well-trained husband. How his knowing smile felt like a promise of more excitement to come.

A magnanimous temptation that made the frills around Aziraphale’s collar feel stiff. A heat, growing all to familiar, came from within; rivaling the power of the summer sun. His lower belly knotted once more as it did all those years ago. His anatomy brushing up against the protective codpiece. Many with flush ruddy face seemed to succumb to just such a powerful warmth as himself.

None the less they kept on dancing. Crowley trading partners with every passing glance, refusing to be tied down just as the wind did. His partners seemed to filter through a lifetimes worth of emotions as he pulled them in close, guide them through the elaborate steps of mating and then left them to the arms of willing others.

Those that collapsed were quickly rescued into the sanctuary of shaded homes. Keeping there seemed to be another matter though. Those, not constrained the pesky business of being bedridden or dead, were quick to rejoin the dance at first chance. Probably a matter Aziraphale should put a stop to, but then again it looked as everyone was having quite a lot of fun.

With a sudden leap into the air, Crowley propelled him in line with the rising sun, a sudden halo of light-catching behind the flaming mane of hair. If any painters were amongst that crowd than this single moment would become the icon of all angels till the apocalypse crashed to earth. It would be only devilish intention to create images of angels, beacons of pure light, as pure flesh decadence to be visually consumed. A small voice in the back of his mind begged to have a taste of such a confection.

All the same, his halo disappeared as he fell once again becoming the handsome demon he is. He was swallowed up by the masses of bodies, disappearing in the dresses and dress shirts. Done with spectating, Aziraphale righted his robes, preparing to leave town. He had a few miracles due in Avignon and that would be a few days ride still. With one last longing look at the crowd, he stumbled off the step, heading for the edge of the village.

Suddenly Crowley was in his space, bringing with him the overwhelming scent of musk and cedar fires, that blotted out the holy incense. He martialized so quickly, the angel lost his footing, stumbling back into the church threshold. Crowley pointedly didn’t follow him, avoiding the consecrated ground. His glasses, perched high on his nose, gave away nothing of his mood, just the mirrored reflection of Aziraphale’s own flushed face. His smile was even more cryptic.

He wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s, lightly tugging him in the direction of the crowds. It was a forcefully pull, more a suggestion he should move rather than a demand. His hands were cold through the fabric of Aziraphale’s cream shirt, a wonderful balm for such an oppressively hot day. “Come dance with us Aziraphale.” Crowley gave a leering smile over the top of his glasses. Gifting the angel with a rare glimpse of his golden snake eyes.

“Angels don’t dance.” He recited back the rule robotically. Feeling every bit like the stiff boards of a water wheel that a fluid watery nymph-like Crowley would roll right off of. Crowley had the nerve to roll his eyes at the principality.

“Pity, you don’t know what you’re missing.” He said, turning to watch with admiration as the locals kept dancing till their hearts gave out. Figurately and quite literally in some cases, this truly had to be the work of hell or more particular the work of Crowley.

“Stopped tempting, you old willy snake.”

“Dancing is hardly a temptation.” Crowley shrugged off the implication, turning his back to the human throngs, still dancing with hellish delight. Aziraphale boggled at his claims. He has to be pretending. How could he not see it? All those looking at him, ready and willing. How was he unable to even know what tempting control he had on the people around him? All that controlled commanded by his swinging hips and swishing hair.

In an age when keeping your space was the height of piety, the powers Crowley’s body contained was the most devious of all. Though the damn fool seemed ignorant to the age and the trends. Possibly for the best though, one could only imagine what havoc Crowley would make if he knew his own powers. He sure would make Aziraphale’s heartache far more than it already did, and with his corporeal body peaking over 5000 he had better be careful.

“You should really try it sometime,” Crowley said, dragging Aziraphale from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Dancing. I think you’d rather like it,” and one more coy smile, the demon melted into the crowd of welcoming bodies. Those hips swaying back and forth in the invitation for the best and most dreadful things. Luckily for Aziraphale, the fashion for codpieces guaranteed that he need not worry about starting an uproar with his interests. With that Aziraphale left only carrying with him a pestering question, what would it be like to dance?


	3. 1926 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its the roaring 20s ya'll!!! This one took so long just because I freaking love the 1920s and wanted to get it right. Crowley obviously would be the pinnacle of a flapper both in fashion and attitude. hope you enjoy.

London was once again a lively metropolis. After years of world-shattering war, life had finally returned to the streets of England's capital. The night was new and many shiny young things were excitably flitting through movie halls, restaurants and bars lining the SoHo streets. The city was louder than ever with horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians alike now having to share the roads with cars. Music and workmen were making noise at all hours of the day pushing the city into the next century. With bigger and brighter lights to push away the dark memories of trenches. 

“Good heavens Crowley, what is this.” Aziraphale stood, outside his book shop. The closed sign was up and all the lights were out. Aziraphale was planning on heading out for supper, wine and some music. There was a lovely little French bistro that was stocked full of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and French expats drunk off of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Instead, he was stopped on the doorstep by a spectacle before him.

“It is my baby, Angel,” Crowley said a salacious smile on her ox blood colored lips. She was laid out, single stockinged foot kicked up in the air with an unbuckled marry-jane shoe dangling precariously. Her arms wrapped around her new pride a joy. The most obnoxiously extravagant black and gray car, it was a low riding sleek body that looks as it was speeding down the streets even while sitting still. The chrome was a perfect mirror reflecting Aziraphale’s own confused face back at him. “A 1926 Bentley, the latest model.”

Crowley raised a pencil-thin eyebrow, clearly waiting for Aziraphale’s commentary. There was little he felt he could say, the car was large, dark and gorgeously glittery, but it seemed dull underneath Crowley’s pale fingers. “Well, it is uh… oh… very beautiful.” He swallowed his tongue in the process.

“Come on. Let’s go for a ride.” She waved him over, still leaning over the top of it, chest pushed out. The plunging neckline of her dress was made modest by a peak of her black lace undergarments. Her petite sunglasses were riding low on her nose as she gave Aziraphale a teasing wink. Heat exploded across his cheeks.

“Oh, well… I was about to get… dinner.” Aziraphale awkwardly fiddled with his store keys. He couldn’t keep looking at her, she made his heart race. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, making it hard to talk overtop the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

“Fantastic, I know a wonderful new spot, all the American artists loiter there now.” She waved him on again, quickly getting into the driver’s seat. Sighing and seeing no escape, Aziraphale headed for the passenger side door. The hood of the car was glittering as a black gemstone, reflecting the lights of the city like the stars in the night sky. The metal smooth underneath his hands as he palmed the surfaces. It was a gorgeous vehicle that was attracting the attention of the people around them.

Crowley gave him all of eleven seconds to get in the car, close the door and buckle his seat belt before peeling out from the curb. She raced down the streets like the devil himself was on her heels. The engines roared like a great beast and the lesser beast as she flung the wheel side to side. Aziraphale white-knuckled gripped the door handle as a dozen little accidents had to be miracle away. The horn blared, people screamed in excitement and surprise and Crowley just smiled something seductive, waving out the window to her admirers and almost victims.

People from all walks were out; Fat cats with puffed out chests, looking for their fourth meal of the day, the downstairs staff wearing their Sunday finest on their one night off, children too rowdy to be left at home and women gushed up like Christmas trees looking for a good time. People were pouring out of the restaurant, every sidewalk table full of average looking men in fine three-piece suits and gorgeous women in the latest fashions gushing over one another surrounded by candles and alcohol.

A night of escape for so many doomed to go home to families missing fathers, brothers, sons, and joy. Drinking their lives away until they had to “become the mothers and fathers of the next horrendous generation” as one salacious New Yorker columnist, with the lascivious name ‘lipstick’, had published in their latest issue. Aziraphale was fond of them to keep tabs on the happenings in the new world.

The world had gone hedonistic and Crowley seemed to be driving that wheel. Her red velvet dress wrapped around her body like a present, tight to the hips before flaring into golden velvet drapes around her knees. He wanted to run his fingers over top the fabric, it had to be so soft and sumptuous to feel. Pooling like a waterfall overtop the chair seat, it was so close to his hand.

“This is quite a look for you Crowley.” He hadn’t seen her since the Georgian period when Crowley had pants and considerably more hair. Now, her hair was bobbed short with finger waves, strapped down by a rhinestone-encrusted tiara across her forehead. The clear gems flashing in the speeding nightlife lights.

“You like?” Her snake eyes light up as she smiled at him, looking devious underneath all the Smokey gray eye makeup. A stray bit of hair falling into her eyes from how fast she whipped her towards him. “It’s the bee’s knees with the kids these days.” He could make out her eyes, fixated on a point ahead, through the sides of Her small set circular sunglasses.

She took a sharp turn, just missing an infuriated cop. Settling in, she started to sprawl out in the typical Crowley way. The open windows letting the wind rush in to rustle her hair. She looked comfortable in her skin, the boyish slouch of her dress like a comfortable blanket rather than the confining contraptions of the past. Her freckled shoulders peaked out, slightly glistening with sweat from the humid night. They looked like a thousand little stars stamped into her skin. Perhaps they were each freckle corresponding to a star in the heavens Crowley helped to create.

Crowley brought the Bentley to park outside their destination. The storefront was positively bursting with rowdy Americans, toasting a quoting dead poet or at least poets drinking to near death. Food was overflowing on every table, largely ignored by the masses who were more content with close contact with each other. Jazz music was falling out through every open window as the exuberant dancing bodies took over the floor. All of this Crowley watch with excitement and Aziraphale with dread.

“I thought you said we were getting dinner.” He implored his companion, watching as men chatted with young women all under the cover of cigarette smoke. A few of the more astute partiers had already noticed the fine black car and the finer woman who was driving it. Several were whistling and conversing with one another, pointing in their direction. The whole lot of them sending looks of appreciation at Crowley, Aziraphale being nothing better than an obstacle for them to look over.

Killing the engine, Crowley dug around in her purse, “We are, there just happens to be a party I was invited to.” One of the men had peeled off from the group, a strapping gentleman with slicked-back blond hair, sharp straight nose, and booming laugh. He was drenched in American swagger, with his blue and white striped blazer. With all the confidence of a Yankee, he bent forward, sticking his head into the cab of the Bentley.

“Antionette, there you are.” He greeted Crowley with a brilliant smile. His voice was smooth and had a distinctly purposeful upper class affect to it. He had the ease of a man who was used to getting what he wanted with the ease of a smile. He had a half-empty martini glass in his hands, which he was precariously close to sloshing all over Crowley’s new car. “Now this party can really start.”

“Hello, Fitz. You are looking swell tonight.” Crowley had to basically lay in Aziraphale’s lap to look out the passenger side window. His stomach cramped with how hard he sucked in his belly. Her beautiful face was entire to close, he could just start to make out his snake birthmark underneath a thin layer of cake foundation.

“As do you, Sheba.” Fitz charmed her with. Crowley simply offered a polite smile, shooting a look at Aziraphale, like he could do something about it. After a long moment of silence, the man seemed to all of a sudden to notice Aziraphale’s existence. “This a friend of yours.”

“Yes.” She perked up again, placing a gentle hand on Aziraphale’s shoulders. The sudden scent of gardenia wafting over him. It mixed well with Crowley natural smell of cedar fires. “Angel, may I introduce Mr. F Scott Fitzgerald.” The man gave an obliging nod in welcoming. “Fitz, this is my dearest friend Mr. A. Fell.”

“Charmed, are you joining us tonight Mr. Fell?” He was a warm welcoming host, that was clear enough.

“Oh, I think-“

“Come, Angel, you should talk to Fitz, he has produced two of the most iconic books of the day.” Crowley egged him on, knowing his weak points.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were an author.” He fibbed to the American’s face, he would save feeling bad for a later date. Lying to Americans was never considered to be a sin anyways.

“Don’t be coy. You and I both know you’ve already read This Side of Paradise.”

“I thought it was philosophical on the garden of Ed-“

“Don’t tease, Angel. You and I both know that you can read something not just for education but for the pure pleasure of it.” She ribbed him, letting the s in pleasure roll out like the natural tempter she was made to be.

“Did you get much pleasure from my book than Antionette?” F. Scott asked Crowley with a teasing tone, Aziraphale raised a brow at the demon, knowing full well that Crowley generally avoided reading. It put her to sleep too quickly she complained.

Scott was looking at Crowley like she was a rare treasure. Something sparkly and new to covet and hoard from the world. If only he knew how hard a task that would be. Not even heaven could contain Crowley when she had her mindset on something. When she was determined it was like the rest of the world washed away to nothingness. There was something about the look that rubbed Aziraphale the wrong way.

It was as if he stared with enough charisma, that Crowley would be whisked away by the human leaving Aziraphale all alone. He wouldn’t be able to handle another couple of decades without the demon. She had just come back to him less than a hundred years ago and he wouldn’t be able to handle ten more without her. It was enough to make his hand sweat, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands around her and not let go.

“You have already gotten all my opinions, Fitz. Do be a swell and find Zelda, she promised me the first dance.” Pulling out a golden tube, Crowley used a delicately red-painted nail to push up on the lever, revealing the burgundy lipstick bullet inside. A matching gold compact was materialized as well, from her delicate handbag, so she could very deliberately redraw the wide large arches of her cupid's bow. Aziraphale couldn’t miss the flush and appreciate look on the American’s face as he traced the movements of her lipstick tube.

“We look forward to having a drink with you Antionette. Don’t take too long Sheba.” The man quickly went back into the restaurant, standing out tall and proud with his wheat gold hair and sparkling blue eyes. Everyone greeting and cheering him as he went, passing glasses of champagne into his hands. He was swallowed up by the crowd, hopefully, to get his wife.

As she turns to exit, Aziraphale feels the breath he never needed to seize in his chest. Her back is completely bare, exposed to the world for all the scandal to follow here. Chained along the plunging fabric is an enormous gold snake charm curling down her spinal cord. It was stunningly beautiful, easily one of the most elegant things Azirphale had ever seen on the female form, and he was a court painter during the rococo period. There was a simple elegance that came with such ease it had to be a God-given gift... or Satan devised temptation. Whatever it was though, it was moving to fast for him, making his head spin. 

“Come Angel. We have a party to attend.” She smiles at him dazzlingly through the window before rushing into the cheering crowd. That snake at her back swaying as her hips swished away. sighing he just dropped his head back, thudding against the back of the chair. Lord help. The devil was a tempting beast and even worse she wasn't even trying.


	4. 2010 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be a Good Omens fic without the Dowling Era making an appearance.

It was a beautiful spring day, picture-perfect as they had all been in Tadfield for the last several years. Damp and cool, lawns were sparkling with dew, left over from the nightly rains but with the sun warming it by noon to leave you comfortable in almost any outfit. By evening you could get comfortable in blankets, while picnicking under the stars and the fireflies, with a good book and a better bottle of wine.

Aziraphale was pruning bushes, contemplating the perfection of the weather, and praising the roses for being so vibrant and symmetrical. They were surely the most beautiful in all of London, if not the world, with their pink silk petals and lush green leaves. The afternoon was nearing, meaning that lunch would soon be upon them. Before all that could happen though, warlock would be out to play in the yard and have some angelic interventions in his upbringing.

Like clockwork, Crowley came out of the French doors at the back of the Dowling’s mansion. She looked as perfectly manicured as the mansion’s lawn. Her fashion tied so closely to the stereotypical perfection of the 1950s. Something that only now existed in the minds of the elderly and major cinematic graphic shows. Her red hair quaffed into large pin curls, tucked tastefully behind one ear. Her ears were adorned with delicate, sensible, black pearl earrings which matched the simple necklace peeking out from under the collar of her button-up.

On her hip was an excited toddler, making grabby hands at the pretty jewelry flashing in the light. Though, little Warlock seemed wise enough to know not to make attempts at his nanny’s sunglasses.

“Hello there Miss. Ashtoreth, Lovely day it is.” He jovial exclaimed from across the yard in greeting as she set little Warlock down. Instantly the boy was off like a light, racing straight for Aziraphale. He drooped right to his knees, arms out, ready to wrap up the sweet boy in a hug.

Crowley followed after the boy; her gait was awkward. Her beloved red-bottomed heels sinking into the moist soil of the yard. “Brother Francis.” She said with a tight-lipped smile she reserved for when Aziraphale took up his gardener form. Crowley had never been fond of it and made sure to express it every chance she could. Bemoaning that he looks like some bastardized hobbit and couldn’t he have at least kept it “sweet shapely nose” at least. “If you insist, bit too bright and cheery for my taste.”

“Nanny loves the sun and gardens!” Warlock announced, giggling at the hushing tone Crowley sent him. Clearly, this boy wasn’t scared by much.

“Warlock, what did I tell you about lying?”

“That I should always tell them. Especially to daft adults.” The little bay gave a wide gapped tooth smile with complete pride. Crowley patted him on the head, giving him her approval.

“Good boy.” She runs a gloved hand through his shoulder-length hair. Then she lightly shooed him, letting him run free in the yard, letting out his post-lunch energy. He squealed making a beeline for the hedgerow were a family of rabbits had burrowed, picking up a stick while on the way. Crowley didn’t even bother to watch where he ran off, her demonic scenes keeping always keyed into the boy. “You have something to say, Brother Francis?”

She offered him one of those supple secretive smiles, that were normally reserved for their nights out at the Ritz on her rare off days. Her lips were pink and plush with the latest and most fashionable lip color coating them. Aziraphale’s heart started to race once more, frankly, he should be used to it all by now but none the less it made him tingle. It was almost a reflex at this point, seeing Crowley made his heart race like he just finished a marathon.

“What… oh uh… um yes… the uh… the apple trees have started to bloom.” He said, holding up a delicate twig with four large pink blooms and verdant green leaves. Ashtoreth looked unimpressed through her sunglasses, though a light flush was present high on her sharp cheekbones. Aziraphale chalked it up to the sun or heat, it must be awfully warm in her black pinstripe blazer and tight pencil skirt.

With as soft of fingers he could manage he tucked the flowers behind her ear. The soft pink and white petals popping against the copper-red of her curls.

“Oh… um… Thank you, Brother Francis.” She sputtered out, standing rigid backed. To add to the absurdity of the tableau a rather fat bumblebee started the float around the flowers behind her ears. Her glasses glinted as she suddenly looked down like she was unable to keep eye contact with him any longer. Warlock started to yang on her hand, jumping up and down ready to burst with whatever vitally important thing he had to say to her. Without saying anything, she raised an eyebrow, silently urging the boy to speak his mind. There was something to be said for how naturally the two communicated silently with one another.

Though the silence was never bound to last long with the toddler around. “Nanny you look pretty!” He little voice cracking with how excited he was to tell the world a truth or two. Nanny for her part seemed all too willing to accept every truth that was given. To be fair as the antichrist he had the power to make anything he did say be a reality, even if he didn’t know that yet.

“I thought I always looked pretty?” She pretended to be put out, her soft gloss lips pouting ever so slightly. Crowley had taken a liking to the new makeup trends of the 21st century and insist on always having an eyeshadow palette, mascara wand, and soft pink gloss on her person at all times. Many times driving Aziraphale to distraction during dinner as she meticulously reapplied at the table, another scandalous habit that she was tickled with (and subsequently made oh so chic) in the 20s.

The little boy’s eyes grew wide, scared for once a moment that she would punish him for insulting her, before becoming aware that she was teasing, “You do. You do but… the flowers are super pretty.” He waved his hands widely as if they added a description to his vague statements. Aziraphale could see the moment she softened, fine lines around her eyes evening out as she smiled lightly to her ward. Even now his chest felt as warm as it did that night after his seventh cup.

“They are, aren’t they.” She said over so softly, sending these little looks to Aziraphale over top of her sunglasses. Eyes that should scare any angel or human, with their sharp slits, were shimmering like Christmas tensile. The kind of pretty high end tensile that department stores sold and only burnt out mothers drunk on eggnog thought were a good deal to buy. The kind Crowley brought in armfuls last year to little Aziraphale’s bookshop and then sat back and shared dozens of cups of buttered rum together.

“Would you like some Warlock?” Aziraphale asked, already making his way back towards the apple tree. Reaching high up into the branches he managed to pluck another set of flowering twigs. Warlock made grabby hands, demanding the impromptu gift. As soon as his chubby little fingers wrapped around the branches, he started to fling it around like a sword. By miracle through the delicate flowers stayed attached and unbruised. Excitedly he started to wave it wildly in the adult’s directions, demanding they pay attention and praise it.

“Yes, very beautiful.” She capitulated to his demands. She always did like a good evil nanny. “What do you say to someone when they give you gifts?” she patted his back, prompting him to step forward and stand like a proper little gentleman.

“Your soul is damned and you will burn in hell.” Warlock said with the biggest grin a toddler could make.

“… what else do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome Warlock.” He patted the little boys head, running fingers through his sleek long hair. “Now come, let’s give Nanny a rest and look at the clouds.” Leaving Crowley to bask in her little patch of sunlight, Aziraphale led the toddler into the center of the massive lawn. Together they laid out, Warlock flopping onto his back while Aziraphale propped against his hands keeping the sky and Crowley in view, the grass cool against their backs and the sun warming their chests. “Alright, little warlock. What do you see?” The boy bit his lips and squinted his eyes studying the sky like the most complex math problems that his mother already subjected him too. Aziraphale was content to wait, interested to see what the little boy’s imagination could come up with. Suddenly with great force, that actually raised to boy up to sitting, he pointed to a cloud cluster.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! That looks like Mrs. Kennedy’s cat!” Talking about a fat fluffy white cloud that seemed to have a thin barely-there tail, much like the neighbor's cat with a circular body and balding tail. “And that one looks like a duck” He quickly pointed out another cloud series. Aziraphale smiled, happy to see that what the boy imagined was living animals and not death and violence. Keeping that balance. He hoped. “That one looks like a snake that ate an elephant.” Warlock excitedly pointed to another set of clouds.

“My goodness, that had to be one big bite.” Aziraphale laughed looking over the Dowling’s own personal snake in the grass, she was currently pulling up said grass.

“The biggest! That one looks like a grinning dragon.” Quietly started snapping Aziraphale to miracling the clouds into elaborate shapes for the boy. “That looks like a six-legged horse. That one is a castle. That one…” Slowly he became distracted, Warlocks voice becoming a gentle song in the background, not ignored but not fully focused on. His eyes began to wander over Crowley, primly sitting in the grass, legs tastefully crossed to one side keeping her skirt wrinkle and scandal-free. She pulled the branch from her ear, pulling out a few strands of hair from their tight pinned curls.

Pinched between her black painted long fingernailed fingers, she rolled the apple blossoms side to side. Viewing it, with a small appreciative smile, from all angles. Light is streaming through the tree leaves, dappling the ground with butter yellow spots. The light highlighting the deep dips in her collar bones, peeking out from her blouse which she had unfastened the topmost buttons in the warmth.

Her shoes were off, propped up against a large tree root, her tale-tell tanner stockinged feet peeking out, with its prominent black line scaling up the back of her legs. A perfect line to scale up the back of her shapely legs as she walked around the house. Now the edges of those sheer stockings were darkened from the dewdrops on the grass. She didn’t seem to bother by this, surely, she’d miracle it away later anyway.

All these little imperfections made the taboo even more exciting. Nanny Ashtoreth’s perfect façade being broken to tease at the humanity under it all. Not just a nanny but a powerful woman who knew what she wanted and would be damned to not get it. It would not be the first time that she caught the attention of others, hell she had been turning heads for millennia with her red hair. For the first time though, she seemed more aware of that fact. Though she never seemed to use that skill, never once did Aziraphale see her brush hands with the staff when asking for extra treats or flirt with the head butler when she was breaking ground rules like he had seen a few of the younger women do.

“That looks like Nanny!” Crowley jumped suddenly hearing her name screamed from Warlock. Looking up Aziraphale flushed, realizing that the clouds were in fact in the shape of Crowley’s face in profile. Quickly he looked back to Crowley, seeing if she noticed. She did. Damn it. In a rush, he snaps and the cloud evaporates like it never existed before.

“Alright, I think that is enough cloud gazing for today.” He flustered out, scrambling to his feet. “Much to do and such. These plants aren’t gonna garden themselves.” He fretted, helping Warlock to his feet and urging him to go back to Crowley. She just sat there, pinning him with a stare, the glint in her eyes hidden behind those blessed sunglasses. He held out his hand, in a suggestion that she stands.

Finally giving up on the staring, popping the flowers back behind her ears, she gracefully stood up, taking Aziraphale’s offered hand. Her palms were warm and damp like the dew on the grass and looked so small and delicate against his soil-covered ones. “Thank you, Brother Francis.” She said, giving a gentle squeeze, rolling her thumb overtop his knuckles, before letting go altogether. Once contact was broken, she went back to her picture-perfect primness, shoes somehow magically back on her feet. “Come, Warlock, let's see if we can sneak a few brownies out from under the cook’s nose.” A suggestion which got an instant cheer.

Warlock toddled and giggle as he was led away by hand, looking up adoringly to the rather severe woman who had clearly captured his childhood heart. Nanny simple looked back down at him, gifting him with a small soft smile across her perfectly painted burgundy lips. They were never smudged, those lips, the lipstick holding up against all matters of treatment. Two rounded bumps along her top lip creating a dramatic cupid bow that fed into a plush lower lip. Everything about nanny was dramatic and prim and proper.

Reaching up imploringly the little boy begged to be held. No one lasted long when Warlock begged, those doe eyes always did you in, even Nanny succumb. Bending over gently she raised the boy and rested him along her hip, content to ignore how he fisted his chubby fingers through her pin curls. Once inside, Aziraphale turned back to the roses, noting how lackluster they seemed to be now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would die for Nanny Ashtoreth and proudly go to hell to be her pet.


	5. 2019 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the first thing Crowley does after Failmaggedon?   
> Answer: Fucking sleeps that shit off. Baby earned it.

“Dear boy, it has been 3 days. You have thoroughly missed our reservations at the Ritz and I am beginning to worry.” Aziraphale fretted as he pushed up the front door to Crowley’s apartment. He had kept his copy of the key from his first night staying at the demon’s place, after the failed Armageddon. That morning when they switched bodies, he had kept his copy in the pocket of Crowley's tight pants and forgot about them. They now hung from a rusty nail beside his shop keys in his second-floor flat. He refused to mention this fact for just as long as Crowley refused to ask after it.

The apartment is deathly quiet, the tv is off and the only sign of it being lived in was the broken answering machine and the absolute chaos of astronomy pages strewn about the ground. Cautiously Aziraphale closed the front door, his shoes squeaking ever so slightly against the concrete floors. The demon was no were to be seen in the odd living room he had, if you could count a throne, desk, and tv as a living room. Which meant that Crowley had to be in bed since he couldn’t be bothered to ever make a kitchen. Instead, he opted to make the spare room look like a forest sprouted into being in the middle of his apartment. Instead of sleek appliances and granite, the room was shoved full of every possible plant that Crowley had ever been charmed by, many assumed to be extinct by the humans at this point.

The plants were drooping in relaxation, clearly soaking up the chance to just exist without fear of their owner’s attention. They were still as vibrant and verdant as ever. Always ready to pop back up into spryness at a moment’s notice. All of them looked content, well as content as plants could look, basking in the midafternoon sun. As he passed by them, he gently stroked individual leaves hoping to pass love through his touch. “You are all such beauties,” He smiled at them, his grin growing bigger as he watched the plants jittered in giddy excitement at the praise. With a small miracle, he helped several flourishes with exotically vibrant blooms, letting loose an abundance of fragrance into the air. Truly wonderful.

Humming "La Damnation de Faust" by F. Mercury, He continued on his path to the bedroom. Which for reasons, only Crowley could articulate, involved an assuredly long ominous hallway with nothing more than a few lights and a massive sculpture on full display. Aziraphale never learned of where Crowley got the masterpiece from or when. For all, he knew it just magically came into being in the middle of the flat.

The statue was nothing short of pure Bernini decadence, all softy fleshy folds, euphoric faces, and poorly veiled sexual tension. Two young muscular figures locked in battle, hand to hand combat that appeared to end soon in the victory of one. One young man was pinning the other to the ground with his shoulders and hips, dominating over top of his opponent. The other was twisted, forced to press his bare chest to the cold ground while his fee struggled to gain traction. Gilded wings were flared out to blanket them from prying eyes. It all made Aziraphale question if what they were doing was truly wrestling.

He had only ever wrestled once, back in the days of Augustus. Very common practice, the best way to bond with your fellow men and even strike a few business deals while waiting turns to exert one’s energy. He wasn’t very good at it, much too soft and tender, but he would always have fond memories of the scent of sweat and olive oil.

He had seen the rare wrestling match turn into more. Usually in the seeder of the bathhouses, where there were more dark corners and less discretion. Men would wrestle themselves into a state and then 'wrestle' some more to find relief. All to the cheers and adoration of others. It all would become a show, who could last the longest, moan the loudest, move their partner the furthest with just their hips. You could learn a lot about technique from those men. Lessons that had benefited Aziraphale multiple times throughout history, goodness he could attribute his entire collection of Oscar Wilde to those lessons. Beneficial indeed.

There was one person though who he always expected to see at these clandestine fights, yet was never there. The tempter of Eden never seemed to frequent a place so in tune with the pleasures of temptation. Though it was probably for the best, a man like crowly could start a riot in the most reputable conservative men. Imagine what he could do with those men, already excitable and looking for a partner. Images of supple freckled skin, flushed pink with exertion, wild red hair laying out like a fire halo and kiss bruised lips handing open in gasps, flash across his mind. He wanted to press that lanky image down into the bed, pinning it in loving captivity. Slowly Aziraphale's tweed pants were becoming stiflingly tight against his crotch. The pressure growing as he daydreamed of rocking into wide flexible hips. Achingly he readjusted himself, giving temporary relief to the pressure pooling there. Determined to ignore it all he quickly went through the bedroom door, turning his back on the statue of angels tied together.

The bedroom was blacked out. No sunlight was getting in through the curtains and only the bright sliver of light from the doorway was illuminating the space. A severe rectangle of yellow light crawling across the ground and scaling up overtop the bed. Nestled into an absolute nest of blankets, there easily had to be eleven quilted blankets stun all across the ultra-plush king size mattress was a shock of red hair and a single naked foot peeking out.

Slowly Aziraphale raised his hand towards the foot, wanting nothing more than to skim a finger across the sole and tickle the sensitive skin. At the last moment, he fluttered, watching at the little muscles along with those toes curled slightly. A groaning noise came from the head of the bed and the foot suddenly disappeared under the covers. The blankets started to rumple and shift as Crowley murmured like the grump he is. “stupi… no respc fo a demon anymo.” His pale skin was in stark contrast with the black satin sheets falling from his shoulders. The shadows along his spine twisted as he set up, showing off how all the lean muscles flexed.

“My dear boy you’re awake.” Aziraphale warmly welcomed Crowley, sitting down at the foot of the bed sinking in a good 8 inches. Crowley didn’t even turn to look at him, instead rumpling his hair and keep grumbling. He was barely awake it seemed. His movements were slow like slinking through molasses, head swaying. All his harsh edges were smoothed out in sleep haze, which he seemed to luxuriate in. “Good morning, you lazy bum.”

“Oh hi Azir-aaaaaahhhhhhhh-phale.” Crowley greeted with a comically large yawn shoved in there. He stretched his arms into the air, muscles elongating, flexing and tensing ever so much before falling limp once more. His spine curled as he breathed in like it was the first time in millennia.

“Hello Crowley, have a good nap?” He asked, raking his eyes along the pale column of Crowley’s neck as he rolled side to side lazily. His hair, lacking its usually styling mouse, flopped side to side beside his ears.

“Mmm. Yes,” He yawned again and stretched again and curved every which way attracting all eyes and ears to him. It was enough magnetism to stop an entire crowd of people in their tracks. All that animal magnetism, that seductive tempter of a snake, was on display for a single audience member. It was like the deep bass of a cinematographic show, pumped through headphones, slamming into Aziraphale’s being, “Still sleepy though.”

“You missed our Ritz reservation.” He absently reiterated, just absorbing in the beauty before him. Harsh light threw everything into dramatic relief, every fold was deeper, every freckle darker, every hair was wilder. Crowley turned his eyed, giving Aziraphale a squinted side-eye over his shoulder.

“I did?” His eyes were watering, glittering with morning tears. “What day is it?”

“Thursday, my dear boy.”

“Mmmm. Angel,” He mumbled slinking back onto the bed, with absolutely no shame in the world. Completely reckless to his surroundings like a good demon. Back left naked and exposed all the way to his bare ass presented to the world. “Sssssssssorry.” He voice was muffled, face pressed in tight against the overstuffed pillows. His pale skin was given a golden glow in the yellowed light of the hallway, creating perfect shadows along his lower back. Those shadows cast by two round forms of his ass. No matter how skinny he let his corporeal form get, Crolwy always made sure to keep his backside wide and round. Probably for some such nonsense of them looking good in skinny jeans, which they did but that wasn't the point.

No, the pressing issue right now was the realization that Crowley slept naked. Yes under a mountain of blankets, but completely stark naked. There was something so open and welcoming of seeing him unconfined by his fancy fashion. He truly was a demon, to make sleeping seem like the worlds greatest temptation. If hell wouldn't give him a commendation for it than Aziropahle might have to himself.

Silence fell between the pair, Crowley more than content to slip back into sleep. Busying himself instead with flattening out every wrinkle he could find. Anything to keep his eyes, and loins at bay, away from staring at his companion. “I think I will go make myself a drink.” He stood up quickly scampering for the bedroom door.

“I want wine too.” Crowley garbled out in the brain muddling way that just proved he had fallen in and out of sleep again. He raised a hand and grasped at the air, looking for a glass of merlot that did not exist above him. Aziraphale just rolled his eyes and the childish display of want.

“Alright, you lazy bum. Get up and I will bring you some.” He closed the door behind him before Crowley could respond. Back into the hall, he went, heading straight for the living room and in particular the art on the wall. An original framed sketch of the Mona Lisa, beautiful, expensive and believed to have been destroyed centuries ago, sat prettily in its ornate gold frame. Her watchful eyes keeping watchful guard over the wall safe she concealed.

Gently swing her on her concealed hinges, Aziraphale started to rolling the dial on the safe lock. 6-6-6, because heaven forbid the Crowley to be anything less than a smart ass in every facet of his life. The tumbles rolled and opened, unlocking the heavy metal door. There, stashed in the dark were Crowley’s prized possessions; The Storm on the Sea of Galilee by Rembrandt, an original Night at the Opera album signed by the entire Queen band, a bottle of Chanel number 5 from 1921, an unopened bottle of Nun’s Island Whiskey, multiple bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine and a beige plaid thermos.

The Thermos was surprisingly light when Aziraphale picked it up, suspiciously so. Carefully unscrewing the top, he looked inside. It was completely empty. Not a drop of water was left inside. A chill runs up his spine, Crowley had opened it.

He knew that, hell they talked about it upon returning to his place after the Failmaggedon and Aziraphale stepped in the puddle that once was Ligur. Crowley showed him the bucket, gloves, towels, tongs, every protective layer he could have taken for his safety. Aziraphale was tired too, tired from the fight and loss of his bookstore he didn’t really give much attention to what could have been. He was just happy at that moment to have a bed to be in and a Crowley to be next too. Seeing it though, holding the now empty container that once house the deadliest substance to his best friend made him grow numb inside.

They both could have thoroughly died that day. No more worries of disincorporating and paperwork, or of annoying head offices and spats over who had to ride a horse to Edenborough. Three days ago they could have instantly gone from and eternity of existence to just not. Which was worse though, Aziraphale not existing anymore or him having to exist without Crowley?

6000 years spent with Crowley and it wasn’t enough. He feared it would never be enough.

In a haze, he grabbing a bottle of wine and miracling some glasses to take back in with him. He shuffled back down the hall, staring at that statue again. Stopping as a glint of the gold wings captured his full interests. The figures were so close together. Surrounding them was an air of being together forever. Yes, forever in a battle but one that had rules, regulations, comradery and gentlemen ship. This wasn’t rough and tumble back alley fight like today’s man, this was the cordial dance of straining muscles from yester year that always ended in firm handshakes and commendations.

Crowley and he were once like that, metaphorically speaking, struggling together over men’s souls before they worked out their arrangement. Though, wouldn’t it have been so much more fun to physically wrestle like that, instead of sparing with words.

Shouldering open the door; he popped the cork on the wine filling up the glasses to a respectable point. “Here you go, dear.” He handed the glass to his sleepy companion. Snapping his fingers he turned on the lights, dimmed slightly in respect for Crowley’s sensitive tired eyes.

“Thank you, Angel” Crowley happily sipped from the wine glass. He was curled up, now sitting with his back to the headboard. Settled among the enormous pillows and piles of blankets. Good lord, there were even freckles down his chest. The tiny speckles trailed up his torso, wrapped around his ribs that stuck out ever so slightly, and made lines up his throat. As he drank the wine his Adam's apple, a term that always incited a giggle from the serpent of Eden, bobbed up and down.

He wanted to be there, to sit amongst the blankets and drink wine and read books and press shoulders with Crowley for the rest of eternity. I wanted to be the personal heater that the demon could wrap around to the content of his little snake heart. He wanted to watch him get dressed and fret over the latest hairstyles and fashions. He wanted to fully, and finally, commit to the ‘our side’ that Crowley so heartedly devoted himself too.

Swallowing Aziraphale decided to bite the proverbial bullet, “Crowley… can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Angel.” He hummed while downing the last of his wine. Instantly he was waving the empty glass under Aziraphale’s noise like and impertinent toddle asking for more. He had that teasing smirk on his lips that said he knew what he was doing and couldn’t wait for the reaction.

“Would…” He started to say, patiently refilling the crystal cup with more wine. Crowley smiled encouragingly at him, happy to sit back shirtless drinking wine and basking in Aziraphale’s nervous habits. “would you like to go on a date sometime.”

The glass stopped, brushing Crowley's lips but never fully tipping enough to pour out its contents into his mouth. “a d-date?” He said in such a quiet voice, it was more of a breath than a sound.

“Yes.” The angel nodded, refusing to break eye contact. It was too important a moment to not have Crowley’s flushed slack jaw face burned into his brain. “I was thinking the Ritz- which we do bu-but I… I mean I figured we… oh, bother… What I mean to say is that… W-would you like to officially go on a dinner date at the Ritz… with me?”

“yes.”

“Really?”

“Yessssss.”


	6. 2020 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night... AKA the 1 time that Crowley actually tries to seduce Aziraphale... and fails.

He stood outside Crowley’s apartment door, like so many times before, with a shaking hand raised, ready to knock on the door. He had probably done this hundred of times over the years, none the less it felt completely different. Taking in a deep breath, he steadied himself, rapping on the door with four steadies, even knocks. Crowley didn’t answer, though he never did. Shift his bouquet of white flowers to his other arm, Aziraphale shouldered open the door, having already made his presence known with the knock.

The apartment was quiet but full of buzzing energy. Every plant was spry and standing at attention looking so green and beautiful. Even the flowers in his arms seemed to perk up a bit more, becoming whiter and fuller. All the plants Crowley’s entry created harsh shadows, ones that you’d associate more with the forests of Eden rather than a London flat. Outside the sun had just dipped below the skyline, promising a cool and cloudy night for the metropolis. The street lights outside were just turning on, flooding the apartment with an orange tint.

“My dear, are you ready for our date?” Aziraphale giddily asked, shutting the front door behind him.

“In a moment Angel, just finishing getting ready.” Came Crowley’s excitably shaking voice from the bedroom. Of course, The world would end long before Crowley was ready for it… or anything. He quickly miracle a crystal glass vase to place his present inside of, and for extra measure use a little miracle to make sure they glittered beautifully in the setting light. It looked lovely right next to the demons possessed answering machine. With nothing else to do, Aziraphale settled down into the throne, content to watch the thrum of the city from outside the floor to ceiling windows. Little moments like there were so simple and sweet when life seemed to slot into place and you had the freedom to simply set back and observe.

Just as the sun disappeared behind the opposite building son the opposite bank of the river. The sky became bubble gum pink and lilac, something so beautiful that Aziraphale could always feel the Lord’s love in one of her first creations. The piece was shattered as Crowley’s bedroom door was thrown open. The demon strode out, “So… what do you think!?” His excitement was palpable as he struck a pose.

His thin legs were poured into a pair of black leather pants which did little to hide the additions he made to his corporeal form Those pants had a velvet corset the color of dried blood tucked into it. The corset was tied tight, creating a dramatic S curve out of his thing body. All of this was thinly covered by a posh black dinner jacket that was left open, giving the illusion of a person he is getting undressed rather than the other way around. It was stunningly sinful like everything Crowley wore, though Aziraphale couldn’t help but note that there wasn’t the illusion of natural ease that the demon usually had.

The biggest thing that Aziraphale couldn’t get passed through was Crowley look different. Drastically different. “Are you wearing makeup, Dear?” The makeup was very pretty, especially what Crowley had done with his lips. What Aziraphale couldn’t grapple with though was, where had all his freckles gone? In the 6,000 years that he had known Crowley, he had never once altered the appearance of his freckles. High and dark along his nose bridge and cheekbones. Now they were invisible, hidden under a layer of foundation making everything look perfect uniformed.

“Wh… well of course,” He sounded breathy like he hadn’t had air in years. “Don’t you like it!?” His eyes flicked all over the over Aziraphale’s face, with the longing searching look in his gaze. “Yes, of course, my dear, I love your eyeshadow it makes your eyes…” The high glamour eyeshadow made his eyes an enchanting focal point. His eyes… that were blue?

“Crowley what happened to your eyes!?”

“They are just contacts” The demon admonished his dates shock, rolling his eyes with a little pout.

“Why in the lord’s name are you wearing them?”

“So, I don’t have to wear my sunglasses.” He waved his hands around his face to emphasize the attention on his eyes. “I want to show off my eye look. Do you hate it?” He sounded vulnerable. Aziraphale gave him a soft smile, he picked up Crowley’s cold hand into his larger palm

“The lipstick is a lovely shade on you”. They were a brand-new shape. No long the gentle pink curve but now a bold red. Much like what he did in the ’20s, overdraw large cupid’s bow and pouty bottom lip, but now with none of the soft gloss, it was all matte. Almost like acrylic. The warm Marylin Monroe red bringing out the glittering… blue eyes?

He didn’t answer Crowley’s question though and the demon noticed. His response came out too stilted nor he speaks quick enough. Whatever it was it left Crowley shifting uncomfortable, starting to chew on that perfect painted lips. Suddenly he swiveled on his heels, heading for the bedroom.

“Oh… well…” With a whip of his coat, the demon made quick strides back towards his bedroom. “I was…. I was just spreading some capitalist temptation over the internet.” Crowley stated as it was obvious that was what he was doing just moments ago. As an excuse it made some sense, he was very proud of his latest creation, the influencer and all the grab bag of poor behaviors, obsession with images, and sketchy product placements it birthed. “I’ll go take it off.”

“No!” Aziraphale hopped up quickly rushing to catch up with Crowley before he could slam the door shut. “no,” He gently placed his palm on Crowley’s shoulder, stopping him where he stood. “don’t do that. Come on you look wonderful,” and he did. He just didn’t look like Crowley which left Aziraphale confused. He slid his hand down Crowley's arm to take his hand. “and we will be late for our reservation if we dawdle any longer.”

Crowley shuffled, bringing Aziraphale’s attention to the beautifully impossible red-bottomed black leather heels that Crowley donned. All of which brought Crowley up even taller to simply tower over the angel. He looked so beautiful but it was clear that he didn’t feel so and it broke Aziraphale’s heart to think he was the one who made him doubt that ever. Giving him a calculating look Crowley finally closed the bedroom door behind him and held Aziraphale’s hand as he headed for the front door.

As the got into the front entryway, Aziraphale felt a sudden press against the back of his head. Turning around, he got a perfect detail view of the delicate plum flossing pattern along the upper curve of Crowley’s corset. He took in a sudden gasp of the Chanel Number 5 scented air, stepping back only to slam into the door behind him. “Cr… Crowley what are you doing?” he blubbered, pressing his back tight against the door. Crowley gave a serpentine smile with just sharp enough of an edge to make one slightly worried for their safety.

“What do you mean angel I’m just trying to grab my coat.” He lied, leaning in even closer, blindly slapping at the wall searching for his coat. Even though he kept missing his target, Crowley never breaks eye contact with Aziraphale. Aziraphale could see the subtle rise and fall of Crowley’s chest, the low lighting bringing to Aziraphale’s attention the light dusting of glitter that was there. It was an intoxicating dance of little lights, a million little stars brushed across his skin. The freckles might be gone but there was a new galaxy of constellations to connect.

With a flustered snap of his finger, a black plaid trench coat materialized in his hands. “Here, Dear.” Just as quickly he circled around Crowley and placed the coat on his shoulders. It was the perfect size creating a fashionable illusion of a cape.

“Tartan… really, Angel?”

“It looks good on you.” He said with a sniff, opening the door and leading the way down the hallway.

“I do like the red detail.” Crowley capitulated, toying with the cuffs and lapels to reveal the bright red fabric on the underside. As they walked Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was dragging behind, moving at a sedate and almost stiff pace.

The Bentley ride to the Ritz was at a leisurely pace of 67, per Aziraphale’s demands. None the less the couple was in the luxury lobby, greeting the matra de at the stand, with 2 minutes to spare before their reservation. The gentleman behind the stand had the glossed back hair of a German, the poised posture of a French man, the flirtatious eyes of a Spaniard and all the urgency of an American Telecom company.

As they made their snails walk toward the tables, Aziraphale scanned the restaurant looking for their favorite regulars and preferred waiters. What caught his attention instead was the fleeting looks that other patrons were giving them. It wasn’t just the standard one-off glance triggered by movement in the periphery. These were double-takes, ones with full head turns and quirked eyebrows. All of them directed at the image that was Crowley. His dark outfit standing out against the pale butter yellows and creams of the Ritz’s décor. Stepping up the pace, Aziraphale placed his palm against the curve of Crowley’s lower back, coming to stand beside his date. Crowley looked down at him with a timid smile on his lips, slowly stepping closer to Aziraphale’s hand could wrap around his outer hip.

Once at their usual table, Aziraphale made sure to pull out Crowley’s chair himself, making sure he was settled before taking his own seat across from his date. Their matra de handed them the over half dozen menus they would need to decide their water, wine, nonalcoholic cocktails, appetizers, soups, entrées, desserts, and method of payment.

With a respectable amount of time spent inspecting a menu, they both had memorized they gave their orders to their waiter, one of their favorites who knew when to throw in suggestions to improve their experience. Once all the menus were off the table and the wine cooling stand was behind the table, the couple was left to the most harrowing of tasks, premeal small talk. Many a philosopher and poet meditated on the torturous forcing one took when starting a romantic meal conversation. Subjects should be chosen carefully as they set the tone for the rest of the evening. May it not be overlooked how one’s destiny could be altered with the single placement of an ill-advised political joke or soliloquy on the state of religion.

With all that in mind, Aziraphale opted instead to bring up the very safe topic of their young protégé, the anti-Christ, and the antics him and the Them were getting into. Crowley set back and let Aziraphale lay out the tale Adam had regaled him with when he visited last week.

The entire time though, Crowley just wouldn’t look him in the eyes. They had done this dance thousand times over. The Ritz. Dinner. The lofty talks of philosophy, literature, theater and everything else on no importance. The entire time though Crowley would look anywhere but Aziraphale’s eyes. He would play with his silverware, swirled his wine constantly, even kept extended eye contact with a philandering politician on a date with 1 of his 3 mistresses. Even as Aziraphale’s tried to lean in, make sure he was seen and even stared at the politician himself to see what was so interesting, outside of the ominous manila document he was slipping into his dates purse, there seemed to be nothing that interesting to keep Crowley interest.

Usually, Crowley could stare holes into Aziraphale’s soul, through his mirror black sunglasses, but now he just simply refused too. That when it hits Aziraphale, Crowley is uncomfortable.

“My Dear, are you okay?” Crowley snapped back to attention, looking like a spooked rabbit for just a fraction of a moment before a new look took over. He gave a wide small one that shows off all his teeth and looked almost painful to hold, as he leaned forward pressing his chest out. He went to put his head on in one of his hands than was propped up on the table, but missed, hitting the edge of the little plates meant for their bread and butter. The porcelain gave a loud clatter is it slipped out the wedge it was forced into under his arm, slamming back onto the table and clanging against the fork and knife, knocking them to the floor.

“Shit.” Crowley breathlessly vented, even as their attentive waiter swooped in with a new set of silverware and a napkin to whisk away the thousands of little bread crumbs that cascaded about. Even with everything back in place Crowley glared down at the table as if he was offended.

“Crowley?”

“Wh… Yes, What?”

“Are you alright, Dear?”

“Of course, angel how could I not be?” He slunk slightly lower into his chair, the edge of his jacket slipping off to expose his bare skin… Ahh, there they wore. All his freckles, looking so pretty in the Ritz’s lights. As soon as they appeared, they were gone again, as Crowley righted his dinner jacket. Before Aziraphale could continue his story where he left off the starters were delivered and the wine was refilled. They both tucked into their meals and quietly praised the texture, taste, and technique of the exceptional staff as they eat.

They repeated the process again as the soups and entrée were also handed out. Aziraphale watched as Crowley ate with enthusiasm, It was a rare sight to see as usually the demon only ate an appetizer than settled into several glasses of wine as Aziraphale kept going. As they ate they drifted closer and closer, their words getting softer and smiles just a bit sweeter. If one of the humans was paying attention, they would have noticed that it seemed as if Aziraphale’s seat and place setting was slowly traversing around the circular table to put him directly beside his date, rather than the opposite. Luckily none of the guests did notice and their waiter had the exception instinct to not bring up such a foolish topic as he checks on his guests.

Aziraphale’s belly grew warm and he could feel his heartbeat in his palms as he took in the contented quirks in Crowley’s face as he took in his meal. His perfect makeup couldn’t hide all the personality that his expressions could convey. Crowley really did have such a beautifully freedom to his countenance. The Demon more emotion in a single raised brow than all the archangels combined. A not insignificant number of Aziraphale’s nights was spent trying to decipher if they were a result of falling in the beginning or rather a wholly Crowley thing. Aziraphale scanned how his eyebrows tilted up and down, the crinkles in his eyes depend as he smiled and how the dimples formed with his sharp smile.

“Your lipstick is a bit smudged, my Dear.” He leaned forward, ready to rub away a little bit of the pigment that had escaped out of the sharply painted lines. His had was accidentally slapped away as Crowley snapped his own hand up to cover his mouth. “I’ll be right back.” He announces, the chair screeching out from under him as Crowley rushed to the restroom.

The silence that stretched over the table made Aziraphale squirm. Even the piano player seemed to quiet the music he was making and other conversations seemed to come to an end around him. The minutes seemed to slow to a complete stop as he waiting for Crowley to return. It was torture as he kept an eye out for the gorgeous dark enchantress to come back from the powder room. Luckily he was saved by his own personal purgatory as Crowley made his way be to the table.

With Crowley returned and everything “put back in its place”, everything so perfectly set it was devoid of personality, they finished their meal with limited interruptions. The music was perfect, the meal delicious and their conversations grew comfortable once more. Crowley finally settled back into his skin and was listening attentively to Aziraphale’s retelling of the latest mystery he had read. The demon even went as far as to offer up his own guess on who done it in between the marrieds of inappropriate jokes.

This continued on straight through their desert, simple single scoops of ice cream inside petite chilled gold serving dishes. Excitedly Aziraphale went to take his first bite. Only to freeze over himself when he looked up into Crowley’s disconcerting blue eyes.

Aziraphale watched mesmerized as Crowley swirled the small gold spoon around in his ice cream, creating little mounds and swirls in the vanilla bean scoop. With one of his devious smiles that dastardly snake took his spoon, now weighed down with deliciousness and brought it to his painted lips. Aziraphale couldn’t look away as his pink tongue flicked to catch the smallest amount of frozen sweet white cream. Humming contentedly with a fire in his eyes, he repeated the process, over and over and over until all the ice cream was off his spoon. How did he fall for this trap? It was so transparent and yet he walked right into that trap, right into the front row of the show with a VIP pass to go backstage after. His bow tie felt suddenly tight, the wine he was sipping congealing into a lump in his throat.

With an overly pleased smile, Crowley re-dipping his spoon back in for more. Aziraphale’s own spoon was starting to droop in his slack grip, spilling melted ice cream onto the fine linen tablecloth. With a new spoonful, Crowley brought it up ready for an encore for his number one fan. Instantly, with a great splat, the desert slipped from his spoon and landed against the lapel of his dinner jacket. Crowley’s eyes widened comically as he inspected what just happened to him.

“What a complete mess.” Crowley looked miserable, head falling into his palm, trying to cover her eyes. Hesitantly Aziraphale placed his hand atop of Crowley’s. When the Demon didn’t seem ready to move it, Aziraphale tightened his grip ever so slightly, rubbing small circles along the veins of his delicately long knuckles.

“You do look truly wonderful, my Dear.” Aziraphale slid his hands up along the line of Crowley’s forearm. He leaned in tighter, with a subtle wave of his hand the ice cream stain disappeared. Even with his despondent look, Aziraphale could help but for a second enjoying how the tea lights bounced off Crowley’s face.

“You didn’t seem to think so before,” Crowley mumbled dejectedly and that broke Aziraphale’s heart all over again.

“Of course, I did.” He exclaimed tilting lower so he was in Crowley’s line of view. “You are the most enchanting creature on this planet. A stunning being that artists wish they could capture in their masterpieces. A sinfully gorgeous goddess that has great men and women falling at your feet. A brilliantly, witty, brainy cunny snake that concocts the most innovative sins this side of the 7th ring.” Aziraphale kept speaking, not letting up till Crowley finally lift his head. “But I will admit, I do miss your freckles though.” He tracks his finger down Crowley’s jaw, the foundation still perfectly hiding everything.

“My freckles?”

“They are like your beloved stars. Without them, the sky is nothing more than an empty void.”

“You have been reading to many romances, Angel.” Crowley admonished through the small smile on his face showed he meant nothing ill in his statement.

“Maybe.”

“So… this has been a disaster.”

“Spending time with you is never a disaster, My Dear.”

“Still, it could have gone better.”

“Maybe… I just wished you had fun.” He brushed away a stray bit of hair that was falling into Crowley’s eyes, “You seemed uncomfortable.”

“I just was trying to… I just want you to like me… so much.” Crowley confessed, wrapping his own hands around Aziraphale’s, lacing their fingers together.

“You never had to try with me Love. My feelings for you are bottomless and you never had to try. It has been effortless for years now.” Finishing off the last of his wine Aziraphale pushed back his chair, pulling Crowley up with him, “Come on Love, Let’s finish this conversation at home. I have a lovely bottle of wine we can share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long lovelies. I got three new jobs and they have absolutely been kicking my butt (and not in the fun way like I wish Nanny Ashtoreth would do). Thanks for your patience, darlings, and hopefully the next chapter will come out sooner than this one.

**Author's Note:**

> About time I wrote something that didn't clock in the 5x digits.  
> let's not kid ourselves though... I'll probably get there soon enough
> 
> I am just happy to write something light and fluffy to get people through a truly blistering summer. Stay cool people.


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